


Close Enough

by pamdizzle



Series: Dreams of Lace and Satin [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Hurt Jim, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed, don't touch Oz's things, literal rolling heads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 20:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14722959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamdizzle/pseuds/pamdizzle
Summary: Jim gets poisoned in an usual way. Oswald saves the day, but it's too late to save himself. (It's just a metaphor, Oswald is 100% physically healthy).





	Close Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Just a reminder that this series is only canon compliant up to 4x20, so Lee and Ed are still alive and not-so-stabby-stabbied. I disregarded the finale only because I was too impatient to wait for it while writing these, which is fine, because I wouldn't have altered my path I don't think. 
> 
> This is set somewhere not long after 'Promise Me Tomorrow, Today' but before 'Of Monsters, and Men with Demons'. I thought it might be a good idea to address some of those issues Jim ponders in OMMWD. Just to give you guys some context as to what he meant by 'hurdles' and his allusions to Oswald's perception of their relationship, which he can see but doesn't actually realize the full extent of. So, this gives you guys the full extent of Oz's perception of himself within their relationship before Jim finally tells him he loves him. It's kind of bittersweet, and there's bed-sharing, but it's literally just sleeping this time around lol
> 
> Anyway, Oswald's mentioned pieces are as follows: 
> 
> Panties:https://shop.hommemystere.com/frida-panty/  
> Gown: https://bellatory.com/clothing/Sensual-Nylon-Nightgowns---Feminine-Sleepwear-For-Men

Oswald is no stranger to jealousy. He remembers, acutely, the envy he felt as a child watching the other children run around in groups, longing for one of them—any of them— to ask him to play. In more recent years, he’d been jealous of Fish and Don Falcone—of the power and privilege they possessed. Not to mention Isabella, for stepping into his territory and swiping Ed out from under his nose.

Now, as Oswald watches Lee invade Jim’s space from where he is stood by the entrance to the GCPD, Oswald feels his stomach drop in a familiar, sickening way. He is here to offer the detective a lead in tracking down Dr. Strange, but mostly Oswald had been seeking an excuse to see him during the day for once. They have plans to share dinner this evening, but it’s been a day and a half since they’ve been able to spend any significant time together. It seems odd to Oswald that he now finds himself missing Jim these days, where he’d once accepted the man’s absence without pause.

As Lee smiles beseechingly at Jim, Oswald wishes he would have stayed home and waited until their date. He doesn’t want to see this—the way Jim looks at Lee with something like relief, before that hussy swoops in and kisses him. Kisses the lips Oswald knows are soft and inviting, often smiling and playful when they move against his own.

Oswald cannot bear to watch, not even for a second, and he turns on his heel and marches right back out the door and down to his car. He tells the driver to take him home immediately, calls and cancels his appointments for the rest of the day.

When Ed had told Oswald about Isabella, he had been quietly seething, even though he and Ed were never together. Later, when he’d told her of Ed’s past in an attempt to drive her off only to seemingly make her more determined, Oswald had seen red. Right now, all Oswald feels is numb. He knows Jim hasn’t been cheating on him, Oswald has eyes everywhere and maybe it’s underhanded, but many of those eyes are on Jim Gordon when the detective isn’t nearby. It would be suspicious if he didn’t maintain the pretense of keeping tabs on Jim, for the sake of his business dealings and Jim’s safety.

It isn’t a betrayal that Oswald sees so much as competition. A threat Oswald has no hope of defending against. It is the undeniable fact that Jim now has the option, apparently, to return to this woman Oswald knows Jim still cares for, if not loves. Oswald is a nice distraction, but he is no competition to the great man-eater, Thompkins. Jim will choose her, because he loves her, and Oswald will be alone again with only his memories to keep him company.

He could easily have her killed, Ed be damned, but doing so would only ensure that Jim not only leaves him but cuts him off entirely. Besides, he’s learned his lesson on that front. Perhaps if he willingly lets Jim go, when Lee inevitably crushes Jim once again, he will return to Oswald and they can continue on as they have been. It would simply be a temporary stay of their current arrangement.

It will hurt, but if it means he can keep Jim in some future capacity, Oswald is willing to try it. He will confront Jim at dinner, he decides, and let him know that’s he is free to go to Lee, and that Oswald will wait for him. Maybe Jim will even kiss him goodbye.

 ***

Jim doesn’t show for dinner, and that does make him angry. They had a date tonight, and whether or not Jim plans to return to Lee, he could at least honor his previous engagements. Oswald is beginning to think he is destined to be the butt of some cosmic joke. To always be the fool who gives away his heart, only to be left waiting and wanting.

Truly hurt now, Oswald finds himself in his bedroom with a paper bag from Dillard’s. He angrily searches for every trace of Jim—spare clothes, preferred hair products, razor, toothbrush, phone charger—and shoves it all inside. He stares at the hastily packed bag for long minutes before he dumps it out over the bed with a sigh. Carefully, he folds each piece of clothing neatly, and repacks the bag. It’s not a great number of items, but it seems like quite a lot for three months of back and forth between each other’s homes.

Not that it matters now.

Jim hadn’t even bothered to answer the phone when Oswald called. He should throw the whole bag in the fireplace and send the ashes to his apartment. Had it all been a lie? Oswald sits on the edge of the bed, and pushes his fist against his lips, refusing to imagine just what Jim might be doing with his reinstated girlfriend. He pushes out of his chair, ready to go and find _someone_ to kill, when his phone rings.

Oswald can’t answer it quickly enough.

“Ji—“

“Penguin?”

He registers the voice and frowns. “Detective Bullock?”

“Oswald, tell me you know where to find Ivy Pepper!”

Oswald blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

Harvey sighs dramatically. “I don’t have time for games, Penguin. Jim’s been poisoned, he’s in the hospital and all we’ve got to go on is Ivy Pepper.”

Oswald’s heart is in his throat while his mind reels. For a split second he thinks, ‘Serves you right’ before it is replaced by a swift surge of guilt and all-consuming worry. Oswald knows perfectly well what Ivy’s plants are capable of, but Oswald hasn’t seen her in months! And they parted on less than friendly terms. He can only wonder at her motives.

“Why would Ivy Pepper go after the good detective?” He asks with practiced nonchalance.

“She didn’t.” Harvey concedes. “Leslie Thompkins did. Her lipstick was laced with it. She laid one on Jim, and next thing I know he’s collapsing in the middle of the station. We’ve been trying to find an antidote all day! Ivy’s the only lead we got and given the source who knows if it’s even legit.”

“And where is Ms. Thompkins now?”

“She skipped out before we could make her. She’s in the wind.”

Oswald clenches his jaw, plan already forming in his mind. He takes a deep breath and, careful to keep his voice devoid of emotion, says, “If I manage to produce Ms. Pepper what, exactly, is in it for me?”

He can hear Harvey growling in frustration, perfectly voicing Oswald’s own state, before fairly barking over the receiver, “I’ll owe you a personal favor, all right? Is that what you want to hear, you selfish bastard?!”

“I’ll be in touch.” Oswald snaps his phone shut and barely resists the urge to throw it against the wall.

He is going to kill Lee Thompkins.

But first, he is going to find Ivy and drag the antidote out of her if he has to burn down the whole city to do it.

***

Ivy is easy enough to find; persuading her to open a dialogue is what proves difficult. Oswald pursues her across the narrows and into the The Siren Zone where he is promptly assaulted by Barbara’s gang of man-haters. They drag him into her horrid establishment and force him to kneel, his knee protesting immediately.

“My, my, ladies, what do we have here?” Barbara fairly purrs as she enters the main floor of the bar.

Ivy is standing right behind her, smirking at Oswald over the blonde’s shoulder.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, coming down here all by yourself, Ozzy,” Ivy sneers.

Oswald glares at her, then turns a menacing smile onto Barbara. “Oh, I didn’t come alone.”

At his words, several of Oswald’s paid female help turn their guns from Oswald and point them directly at the women in the center of the floor. Feminism is a powerful motivator, but nothing is more motivational than several wads of cold, hard cash. The hands on his shoulders, previously pressing him and his throbbing knee against the unforgiving floor, drop instantly away and Oswald carefully finds his way to his feet. One of these days, he’s not going to be able to manage it on his own. For now, he retains some measure of dignified grace as he takes his cane, returned to him by the night’s hired guns.

Barbara rolls her eyes. “What do you want, Oswald?”

Oswald spins a tale regarding the GCPD and his intent to blackmail them to ensure his less savory business practices fly under the radar. He explains the situation with Jim, careful to give nothing away as he recounts how the detective was poisoned by lipstick and his deal with Harvey. Oswald then turns his gaze to Ivy, “As I understand it, you have some idea of how he might be cured.”

“That bitch!” Ivy sneers. “She stole my makeup!”

“The way I see it,” Barbara interjects, snapping her fingers signaling several women to come forth from the upstairs area to point more guns in Oswald’s general direction, “we can do this bloody, or we can cut a deal. We give you the antidote, and you include The Sirens in your pact with Harvey.”

Oswald pretends to be put upon by the demand. In reality, he is two seconds away from collapsing in relief. This damned cure better work, or he will personally slit the throat of everyone in this room standing between him and saving his detective. Still, he pretends to dither.

“Time is of the essence, Oswald,” Barbara predictably goads.

Oswald forces a frustrated huff through his nostrils. “Yes, alright, fine. Just hand it over before this becomes a moot point, and the opportunity passes along with the detective.”

“Ivy,” Barbara addresses her latest cohort, “you have this antidote?”

Ivy gives a single nod, smiling proudly as she produces a vial from somewhere within her ample chest. Oswald averts his eyes. Ivy looks like she’s aged about ten years overnight, but isn’t she Selena’s age or younger? What the hell? Regardless, she seems to take an unhealthy amount of pleasure in Oswald’s discomfort as she hands over the vial with a smug grin. Oswald ignores her, and makes his exit as swiftly as possible.

Once he is safely ensconced in his car, antidote in hand, he yanks out his phone and hastily dials Bullock to set up the drop. Oswald would prefer to deliver it personally, he doesn’t want to waste any time for the sake of maintaining appearances but needs must. Jim isn’t in true danger of dying, according to Ivy. The poison is painful but slow moving. Suffering is its true purpose, and either Lee didn’t know the nature of the poison or…

Or she did.

Oswald isn’t sure which is worse, can’t even begin to understand her goal, doesn’t much care, though he usually thrills at figuring out such personal motives. It’s easier to manipulate someone when you know their desires, but Oswald doesn’t want to manipulate Lee. He wants to skin her alive, crack her ribs open, and rip her heart out the way she has nearly done to Oswald this day.

Almost belatedly, he realizes he is gripping the vial with bone crushing force, and immediately relaxes his hold. There will be time to think of how best to retaliate later. Jim is his greatest concern at present.

He snaps at his driver to hurry up and focuses on calming down before meeting Harvey. If Bullock suspects for even a moment that Oswald gives a genuine damn about Jim…

Oswald finds himself practicing the breathing techniques Ed had taught him while he was mayor. He may not love Ed as he once did, but he does sometimes miss their friendship despite the recurring betrayals between them. Funnily enough, all over Ed’s poor choice in women.

As things sit, Oswald seems poised to make a habit of murdering Ed’s girlfriends.

A pity, truly.

***

It’s going on midnight when Oswald is jolted awake from where he’d been dozing on the couch. He is confused as to what startled him for all of a moment before someone pounds against the door. He’d been unable to get comfortable upstairs, his mind unable to stop turning itself in circles, thoughts consumed by doubts—not just about Ivy’s cure, either. Though, there’s been no updates on Jim’s condition since entrusting the antidote to Harvey, and Oswald wonders if it is Bullock at the door, here to blame Oswald for a failed cure.

Unwilling to fully processes the ramifications of that possibility—the very idea of Jim not pulling through makes Oswald nauseous—he snatches a switchblade he keeps from a small drawer in a table just off the foyer and yanks open the door.

To his surprise, it is Jim standing on his doorstep, looking haggard and pale, but alive. Oswald pulls him inside and fairly slams the door in his haste to check the man over with his own eyes and hands. He shoves the knife into the pocket of his trousers and runs his fingers over Jim’s jaw, his neck, across his arms, opening his suit to run his palms along his torso before Jim catches them up.

Oswald looks up at him then, embarrassed at his own fretting. Jim was poisoned, not stabbed or shot. It isn’t as if there would be an outward sign. When he finally meets Jim’s eyes, so tired and weary, Oswald feels every emotion he shoved away throughout the day hit him with force. He chokes on a relieved sob before launching himself at Jim, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck and letting himself feel it—just for a moment.

“I’m alright,” Jim whispers against Oswald’s temple, but his arms fasten just as tightly around Oswald’s waist in return.

“I love you, James,” Oswald can’t keep from saying it—he never can. It seems that ever since admitting it the first time, the words now come so easily. Jim doesn’t say it back and Oswald doesn’t expect him to. He knows it’s his own fault. He can’t change the past or take the words back, however, so he lets them out when they’re on his tongue and life goes on. Jim seems to like hearing it, besides; he kisses more urgently, fucks Oswald more deeply, squeezes him back just that bit more tightly whenever they come up between them. Like now.

 Oswald sighs, finally regaining some calm as Jim’s arms tighten that tiny fraction before relaxing again. Jim may not be able to love Oswald, but he respects Oswald’s feelings, accepts them with grace. Oswald sniffs against Jim’s shoulder, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, backing off slightly to get another look at Jim’s face—still exhausted but softer now—before pecking him softly on the lips.

 _His_ lips, goddamnit. Oswald has changed his mind. Over his dead body, will he ever allow Lee to have Jim, even temporarily. She crossed a line today, and maybe Oswald is a slave to his emotions as Ed once accused, but he could _never_ hurt Jim. That has to count for something between them, if Jim were ever put in a position which forced him to choose. It makes Oswald feel slightly more secure, at the very least.

“Come on,” he says, plucking at Jim’s rumpled shirt, “you look dreadful. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Jim nods, taking Oswald’s proffered hand as they quietly climb the stairs together. For once, Oswald must temper his pace to match Jim’s slow ascent.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t still be in the hospital, Jim?” Oswald asks as they reach the upper level, turning toward the master bedroom.

“They said the poison cleared my system pretty quickly,” Jim hedges. “I don’t feel like I’m gonna vomit any second anymore, at least. Just tired from all the—”

Jim cuts himself off abruptly, and Oswald casts a sharp look over his shoulder. “From all the pain. Yes, I imagine you must be. Ivy’s poisons are truly malicious.”

“Harvey says the GCPD owes you a favor,” Jim says, changing the subject, but he doesn’t sound mad.

“Yes, and I have no idea what I’ll spend it on,” Oswald returns as they enter the bathroom, “but Barbara seemed awfully interested. She’ll probably come to you soon.”

“You want me to tell you what she asks for, don’t you?”

“No, well, yes, obviously.” Oswald huffs, annoyed at this rare inability to articulate. He starts the water to the shower; worried Jim won’t be able to get back out of a bath if he manages to climb into one. “I only demanded Harvey pay me a favor so that he wouldn’t become suspicious.”

“I know,” Jim assures, “I knew. I just wanted to tell you, thank you.” Jim’s arms come around him from behind as he presses a kiss to the back of Oswald’s head. “You saved my life today, Oz.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Jim,” Oswald replies, meaning it with every fiber of his being. “I was worried about you.”

“I got your flowers.”

Oswald chuckles, then sobers. “I shouldn’t have sent them. People will talk.”

“Nah. Harvey said they were a warning.” Jim sighs then, resting his chin on Oswald’s shoulder. “He threw ‘em out.”

Oswald leans back, reveling in Jim’s embrace for just a moment. “I’ll set your clothes out while you wash.”

Jim hums. “Or…you could join me.”

Oswald clicks his tongue with a ‘tsk.’ “James Gordon, you can barely stand, let alone—”

“No funny business,” Jim promises, “scout’s honor.”

“You know,” Oswald says, matter-of-factly, “I would find it easier to believe you if you weren’t trying to slip your fingers into my panties.”

“Just trying to help you get undressed, sweetheart,” Jim returns, voice low and silky against Oswald’s ear. His fingers have dipped beneath the waist of Oswald’s trousers to trace the elastic of his satin bikinis.

“Which ones are these,” he asks, nuzzling at Oswald’s neck, “pink or blue?”

Oswald closes his eyes, fighting back his own arousal as he answers, “Pink.”

“I wish I could fully appreciate ‘em tonight,” Jim laments. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Oswald can feel his lungs squeezing with the effect of Jim’s words. He enjoys the physical aspects of their new relationship immensely, but it’s these moments with Jim that are his favorite. When Jim whispers little promises and quiet praises, touches him not with intent but with reverence. It makes Oswald feel so very close to loved; needed in a way that isn’t tangible but is heavy all the same.

Oswald leans forward to adjust the shower taps, water finally heated. “There’s nothing you need to make up for,” he replies. “Just let me take care of you.”

“Think I like the sound of that,” is the answer he gets as Jim lets him go, and Oswald can hear the rustle of clothing being removed.

He undresses as well, taking care to fold his suit and smiling as Jim eyes his own pile of messily discarded clothes with chagrin. Oswald laughs at his guilty expression, then holds his hand out for Jim to pick them up and hand them over. He does, bashfully.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jim. Get in the shower.”

Oswald folds Jim’s things as well, sets them beside his own and shoots a quick text off to Victor, before pulling out two towels from the linen closet opposite the sink. When he finally joins Jim, he finds the detective slumping under the spray with his forehead pressed up against the cool tile of the shower wall. Oswald takes up the body wash and the blue loofah they share and works up a lather.

He washes Jim from head to toe, as much as he can reach without kneeling, placing the odd kiss here and there—gentle grazes of lips against Jim’s shoulder blades, his neck, behind his ear—as he works. Jim allows Oswald to move him this way and that to rinse the suds down the drain, apparently alongside whatever energy Jim had left. Finally, Oswald shampoos Jim’s hair, massaging his temples and scalp as he does so. He lets Jim go back to resting against the wall as he quickly cleans himself next, then shuts off the tap and wraps them both up in towels.

It isn’t until Jim is staring, bewildered, into the empty second drawer of the dresser that Oswald remembers. He silently curses his own foolishness as he crosses to the bed and fetches Jim’s underwear and flannel pajama pants from the bag still sitting near Oswald’s bedside table. When he looks up, Jim is eyeing him questioningly.

“Why’s all my stuff in a bag?” He asks, coming around the bed to peer inside at his things, hand rifling through the contents.

Oswald swallows. “I may have…overreacted earlier.

Jim raises an eyebrow.  He doesn’t know what Oswald saw. “I don’t understand.”

Oswald sighs as he sits himself on the edge of the mattress. “I saw Lee kiss you at the station this morning. I left before it became apparent she did it to poison you,” Oswald tells his knees, unable to look Jim in the eye.

When Jim answers, several quietly tense moments later, his voice is carefully neutral. “I know we haven’t exactly labeled what we’re doing here—I honestly don’t know how to—but I don’t sleep around, Oz. I didn’t expect her to show up and k—“

“I know that,” Oswald interrupts quietly, risking a glance to see Jim focused on him like a case report. “I was just…I thought it would make it easier.”

“Easier…?” Jim questions, and Oswald suddenly finds the duvet very interesting, watching how it moves as he pinches it between his fingers.

Jim is like a dog with a bone, and as easy as it is to tell Jim he loves him, admitting his insecurities aloud is far more difficult. Jim already knows so many of his secrets, so many ways to hurt Oswald if he chose. Each new revelation opens a new vein, and Oswald fears being bled out should Jim ever decide to wield his knowledge like a weapon.

“Oswald?” Jim is determined, and Oswald knows he has offended him by thinking the worst. Because as much as Oswald trusts Jim these days, he still expects to be let down by him eventually.

This is the wall that stands between Oswald and Jim’s ability to love him— _anyone’s_ ability to love him.

Frustrated, Oswald spits out the truth with a bitterness he wouldn’t allow himself to feel earlier. Bitter because maybe it wasn’t today and maybe it won’t be tomorrow, but someday Jim will leave him and he is powerless to stop it. “I thought Miss Thompkins had come to her senses, and I know you still love her, so when I saw what I thought was a reconciliation, I decided to pack for you. I had no idea she was planning to kill you…”

Jim huffs, and Oswald still can’t look at him, so he isn’t sure if it’s with annoyance or disappointment, but he is sure it’s one of the two.

Finally, Jim says, “You weren’t going to put up a fight?” He sounds justifiably skeptical.

“What would be the point?” Oswald asks, finally chancing a glace upward.

Jim furrows his brow. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

Oswald feels stung, then angry. He then takes a deep breath, lets it out. Jim isn’t feeling well, and this conversation is only serving to prevent him from resting. So, Oswald straightens his shoulders and explains it in small words that his thick-headed detective can more easily parse.

“My mother used to say that real love knows no bounds. I know what your decision would be, and I would respect it.” He delivers this information with an expression he hopes is suitably affronted. Jim’s got that startled, wide-eyed look on his face—the one he always gets when something Oswald says upsets his world view—and Oswald prefers not to see it as he confesses, “I would wait for you, Jim, because I love you. And I know she doesn’t. Eventually, you would see.”

Oswald feels the bed dip beside him, and an arm drops across his shoulders as Jim pulls him into his side. Jim’s mouth is set in a frown, his jaw working side to side, when Oswald risks a glance at his profile.

“My feelings for Lee are…complicated,” Jim finally says. “Maybe less so after today.”

Oswald shakes his head. He doesn’t want to have this conversation right now, or ever, really. “Jim, you really don’t need to explain.”

Jim turns toward him, brings a hand to Oswald’s jaw to lift his gaze, clearly wanting Oswald’s full attention. As if he doesn’t always have it the moment he walks into any room Oswald occupies.

“I need you to understand that I’m not…playing with you, here.”

Jim’s eyes are so sincere when he says it, that Oswald has to clench his teeth against a rising swell of turmoil. It isn’t that Oswald doubts Jim’s affection, it’s that he knows this is temporary. One little push is all it would take, and Jim would be out the door and on to new, and better prospects. Oswald manages a wordless nod, and Jim kisses him tenderly on the mouth.

He looks like he wants to say more but, perhaps noticing Oswald’s rising anxiety, he sighs instead as he rises. He pulls Oswald up after him, hugs him closely and kisses his temple, says, “I’m not going anywhere. And until I tell you otherwise, or you’re throwing me out, I don’t wanna see any more packed bags, okay?”

Again, Oswald can only nod.

They get dressed in companionable silence—Jim in his flannel pants and t-shirt, and Oswald in a long purple gown Jim got for him last week. He watches Jim put his clothes back in his drawer, his charger back on the nightstand.

Oswald crawls into the bed and shuffles under the blankets onto his side, facing away from the sight. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to hide, just knows that his nerves are frayed and raw. There are tears running down his nose, falling in quiet taps against the sheets and he can’t put a name to the emotion squeezing around his lungs except that it feels achingly similar to heartache.

But why?

Jim is staying. Oswald should be happy.

He hurts, instead.

When Jim climbs into bed, he scoots over to Oswald’s side and curls around him. It relaxes the noose around Oswald’s heart, but the rest of him is too tense. Jim can feel it.

“Oswald?” he asks, unmistakable concern written in his tone.

Oswald wipes his face, cursing himself for being so transparent. “Hmm?”

“Hey.” Jim manhandles him until he is on his back, and Jim is braced on his elbow leaning over him. He takes in what Oswald is sure must be puffy eyes and a red nose, before resting their foreheads together. “Don’t hide from me, Oz. Tell me what’s wrong.”

_You’ll leave me._

_I can’t make you stay._

_I want you to love me back._

That’s what it is, Oswald realizes, that damnable hope. He pushes it back down from where it managed to unearth itself and covers it back up. Jim cares, clearly, and that is more than enough. It’s _close enough._

Oswald sniffs, letting himself relax into Jim’s heat. He lifts his arms to circle them around Jim’s shoulder and waist, pulling him down so that he’s resting up against Oswald’s left side, half curled over him, Jim’s head pillowed comfortably by his left arm while his free hand slips down to entwine their fingers together over Oswald’s stomach. He decides to go with a half-truth.

“Ed used to say that I’m ruled by my emotions,” he confesses, patting Jim’s back when the man tenses slightly at the name. “No need for that now, Jim. He wasn’t wrong or, at least, he wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. And today has been especially trying. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m somewhat…overwhelmed.”

Jim kisses him then, before resting his head on Oswald’s outstretched arm. “I get it, I just meant…you don’t have to hide it from me. You can…you know…”

Oswald snorts. “Cry on your shoulder, Jim? Really?”

This startles a chuckle from Jim who bites Oswald’s bicep in retaliation. “Yes, actually,” Jim admits with a playful grin, “I’ve been reliably informed that they’re ‘nice shoulders.’”

Oswald blushes, Jim using his own words to thwart him. He finds a throw pillow from somewhere over his head and whops it against Jim’s stupid face.

Jim grins ruefully, his hair amess from the assault, as he concedes, “I deserved that.”

Oswald can feel the affection reflecting in his own eyes as he smiles in return. “I want you to have everything you deserve, Jim.”

“Oz—”

“I’ll give it to you if I can.”

Jim huffs. “And what about what you deserve, Oswald?”

Oswald kisses the tiny little wrinkle Jim always gets between his eyebrows when he’s contrite. “I have more than I deserve already, Jim.”

Jim tries to admonish, “ _Oz—_ ”

“Jim, truly, I have everything I need,” he runs his fingers through the soft hair at the back of Jim’s neck. “Don’t worry about me. You’re the one that needs taking care of, after all. Betrayed, poisoned and nearly dumped all in one day. Sounds to me like you could use some rest.”

“Dumped!” Jim repeats, offended. “You told me—”

Oswald giggles. “Go to sleep, Jim.”

Jim grunts, shifts until he’s comfortable, then says, “Fine. But we’re gonna have to talk about it eventually.”

Oswald sighs. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jim’s muffled ‘uh-huh’ is apparently all the man has left. The slow, even breaths against Oswald’s skin tell the story of his exhaustion. Conversely, Oswald fights sleep for a while. He wants to savor every minute of closeness tonight, and takes his time cataloguing every sound breathed against his skin, every shift of movement as Jim slowly falls into deeper sleep, the feel of Jim’s hair as he combs his fingers through it over, and over.

Eventually, he rests his lips against Jim’s forehead and closes his eyes. The ache in his heart still echoes in his chest, but it’s slowly abating. By morning, it will have retreated entirely, and Oswald will get up and make Jim forget about anything except the pleasure Oswald can give him.

He falls asleep with a victorious smile on his face.  

***

In the narrows, thoughts pivoting between guilt and frustration, Lee Thompkins is surprised when one of Ed’s followers offers her a package, wrapped neatly in brown paper and twine. She and Ed examine the box perfunctorily, declare it free of explosives, before she carefully opens it. The package is dropped with a gasp, as Lee takes a step back and puts a hand over her trembling mouth. The contents have rolled across the floor, the dead eyes of the man who helped her procure Ivy’s lipstick stare vacantly back at her from where his severed head lies at Ed’s feet.

Ed smiles, eyes gleaming at the promise of a new puzzle. "Interesting."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading guys! If you find yourself here at the end, and you enjoyed the read, please do leave a kudo or a comment. 
> 
> A quick thank you to all of you who have been following the series. I really appreciate all your kind words, kudos and encouragement. <3


End file.
